


Care Package

by merisunshine36



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris celebrates his first birthday as a college student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care Package

**Author's Note:**

>  Written for [the TFLN kinkmeme prompt](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/6467.html?thread=13185091#t13185091), _(516): He is drunkenly eating my teddy grahms and making little growling noises as he bites the head off of each one._

The first time Chris' mom ever went to Boston was during move-in his freshman year. The minute she climbed out of the cab and put her foot to the pavement, he saw her mouth flatten into a hard line, her purse clutched a little tighter to her chest than usual. He tried not to look too excited, but couldn't help but bounce up and down on the balls of his feet whenever she turned her back, temporarily forgetful that he was supposed to pretend to be homesick already. Not that his hometown was terrible—in fact, the longer he stayed away from North Carolina, the more his memory embellished it. After all, it was nicer to remember the mountains and the friendly nosiness of the cashier at the grocery store than the boys who chased him after school.

“I don't like having to walk everywhere,” his mother complained. “And everyone talks so fast.”

Chris just beamed at her. “I think I love it.”

“I know,” she sighed.

By the time he settled her into the taxi that would take her back to the airport, he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn't see Erma Hughes set foot in Massachusetts again until his graduation.

Erma called once a week without fail, more if Boston was in the news for something. She'd send him little envelopes full of news articles that mentioned Harvard, and text messages that said things like _snow coming, bundle up! :)_ whenever a winter storm cropped up, even if that snow was actually in New York. To her, it was all the same, a big great North where the streets were dirty and the people were mean.

For Chris, it was paradise.

Chris turned 19 in February, and the day of his birthday he received a squat brown box from his mother in the mail. It was a little battered around the edges, the victim of the mail room staff's general dissatisfaction with life. He sat it on top of his desk and forgot all about it while he dashed off to class, then went out to birthday dinner with his roommates and Eduardo and his boyfriend Andrew, a mild-mannered Chinese boy with a fondness for smoking pipes. He and Andrew had been paired off during freshman week for a forced bonding exercise that lead to dinner, then drinks, then things that Chris doesn't mention in polite company.

They let out a collective nervous breath when the waitress walked away without carding them. Dustin bullied him into ordering the lobster, and when the waitstaff refused to serenade him “Happy Birthday”, stood up and sang it himself. Chris would have been embarrassed if he wasn't laughing so hard. At the end of the night, Eduardo swiped the check off the table before anyone could touch it, and brushed off their thanks with a shrug and a smile.

The sharp cold air rushed up to meet them as they spilled out of the restaurant and into the street. They moved carefully as Dustin had put away a bit too much wine, and Eduardo and Mark were busy guiding him so he didn't faceplant on a curb. Chris and Andrew trailed behind them arm in arm. At the door to their dorm, he begged off due to an 8:30 a.m. recitation the next morning. But right before he slipped off into the night, he whispered a few promises in Chris' ear that made his face go a bright shade of red.

Once they were back inside, Chris remembered the the little brown box that had come in the mail. He brought it out into the common room and sat in the middle of the floor, brushing off Dustin's tipsy and affectionate attempts to help him open the box.

Inside were a few pairs of socks and underwear, a map of Boston, a toothbrush, and two boxes of Teddy Grahams with an index card taped to the top covered in his mother's messy scrawl.

 _Dear Chris,_

 _I know you are into that thing now where you don't eat processed foods anymore, but when you were six these were your favorite. You can share them with your friends._

 _How'd you grow up so fast?_

 _Happy birthday and all my love to my baby boy,  
Ma_

The first box went to Eduardo, who proceeded to try and use the little graham crackers to demonstrate the concept of diminishing marginal returns to Mark.

“You see, the first five teddy grahams I eat, they would be really delicious. The next twenty are tasty, but maybe not amazing. And if I ate both boxes, then I would probably puke all over—Mark, are you _asleep_?”

Dustin slid from his spot in the armchair to sprawl across the floor; he nudged Chris with his foot and held his hands out expectantly.

“Please?”

Chris calmly opened the second box, and dumped some of them out on Dustin's face.

“Hey! What was that for?”

Chris shrugged. He didn't really know, beyond the fact that it was his birthday and he was a little drunk, and he never did impulsive, crazy things, so he just did it.

Dustin collected the sugary refugees from his hair and where they'd slid down into his shirt, then laid them out in a careful line. One by one, he'd bite the head off and then return it to its place, mauled and shiny with spit.

“Dustin, am I crazy or did you just growl?”

“Maybe.” Chris had quickly learned that within the course of his intoxication, Dustin had four stages: boisterous, affectionate, sullen, asleep. Looked like he was heading into the third.

“And are you going to eat the other half?”

“Don't want to.”

Chris got up from the floor and snatched the quilt from Dustin's bed, then returned to the common room and tossed it over his inert form.

“Thanks, mom,” came a muffled voice from beneath the mountain of blanket.

Chris just squeezed his shoulder, then scooped out a handful of teddy grahams for himself and began eating them feet first. Because that was the proper way to do it.


End file.
